


I am the devil but it's all the same to me

by Mauricio



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Depression, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:56:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mauricio/pseuds/Mauricio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And there stood Eponine. She was soaked through, the rain thundering down around her. Jehan would have said it was poetic. But it wasn’t her water sodden state that shook Grantaire – it was her eyes. They were empty and hopeless. There was no soul in those eyes, none of Eponine’s teasing ways or thoughtful sparkle."<br/>Trigger warnings for depression/anxiety</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am the devil but it's all the same to me

The sound of the doorbell was a death toll. Nothing good could ever come of a knock at the door after midnight. 

Grantaire tumbled out of bed, Enjolras trailing behind him wrapped in a blanket, and gingerly made his way to the entrance. The lock creaked as he cautiously opened the door.  
And there stood Eponine. She was soaked through, the rain thundering down around her. Jehan would have said it was poetic. But it wasn’t her water sodden state that shook Grantaire – it was her eyes. They were empty and hopeless. There was no soul in those eyes, none of Eponine’s teasing ways or thoughtful sparkle.  
There was a blossoming bruise at her temple, a shallow cut on her cheek and she appeared to be barely breathing. The moment seemed to stretch for decades, like a memory already formed. 

Then it broke as Enjolras uttered a breathless “shit”. And time sped up, Grantaire pulling Eponine into the warmth. To him everything became a blur of shrieking kettles, towel wrapped round and rushed searches for the first aid kit. It was only when Eponine was smothered in blankets, the heat seeping into her veins, that Grantaire could relax. 

He bit his lip as his fingers cleaned and closed the wound that marred her face. She hadn’t spoken a word, barely moved when she wasn’t being manoeuvred – only gazed emptily into her tea. After a makeshift mattress was assembled and a candle lit, Grantaire could feel his own exhaustion claiming his limbs. With a creak of joints and a huff of breath, he rose and dropped a kiss on the top of Eponine’s head, leaving her in the semi darkness.

Later that night, Enjolras went in search of water. He paused as he passed the living room to check on their impromptu guest. Eponine was still awake, staring out of the window motionlessly. Enjolras had never felt so helpless. It seemed as if she was leagues away from them, trapped in a private world where no one could follow. Wordlessly Enjolras returned to bed. 

Eponine’s silence continued for three days. Grantaire’s attempts to make her eat went nowhere no matter how much he begged, and not a word crossed her lips. In unspoken agreement, he and Enjolras rotated a check on her every night but each time she was never asleep. If it wasn’t for her shallow breaths and warmed skin, she could have been dead for all one could tell. On the fourth day hurried discussions broke out between the pair about medical intervention. The silence had gone on too long to be healthy and their friend had begun to take on the look of a waxwork doll. They agreed to call the doctors that evening if there was no change.  
But salvation arrived in the form of a scruffy urchin. Gavroche arrived like a shadow, looking uncharacteristically subdued as he asked, “Is ‘Nine here?”

For the second time that week, Grantaire experienced an unbearably long silence on his doorstep - this one more uncomfortable than shocking. In the end there was no need for an answer as, taking the silence for acquiesce, Gavroche pushed past to walk over and curl up in Eponine’s lap. There was a moments pause, then Eponine moved for the first time in days. Her hand ghosted over the boy’s hair, stroking rhythmically. The atmosphere was intensely private, Enjolras and Grantaire melting away, to busy themselves with other things, as not to disturb them. The siblings remained, Gavroche whispering muted words into Eponine’s hair. Later that day, Eponine got up. Grantaire could’ve cried with relief as she wandered into the kitchen, hand in hand with Gavroche. Not wanting to spook her, Grantaire carefully wrapped her in a hug; awkward as it was, it felt like a blessing as she slowly reciprocated, arms lifting to lock around R’s waist.

After that, things got easier. Step by step, Eponine recovered – managing a meal, washing her hair, catching up on a few hours’ sleep. On the seventh day since her arrival, she managed to speak. Her voice was crackly and rough, Tom Waits style, but it was there alright, and that’s what counted. Grantaire spent every day in ridiculous attempts to make her laugh. The first smile, when he impersonated Enjolras screaming blue murder at a homophobic shop assistant, was like the first glimpse of dawn. And when he finally extracted a giggle, it felt as if he’d won the Nobel Prize.

By the second week, she was almost entirely back to her usual fiery self, shooting off a repartee with her new housemates. She held herself slightly more delicately and still had trouble making it through a whole night’s sleep but otherwise it was a miraculous recovery, like life seeping back into a frozen limb. 

Although they sorely needed their living room back (painting in the bedroom was not going well for Grantaire), the boys didn’t so much as mention the word “moving”. After a month, she still hadn’t spoken of what triggered the breakdown, if there was something. Judging by her reluctance to go home and Gavroche’s regular reappearances, it didn’t take a genius to deduce that the Thenadiers were involved. But R let it lie – he knew Eponine hated to be a burden and she would move on when she was ready.

One night, Grantaire was in a foul mood. Enjolras was working late, both prompting and fuelling a heated argument. He’d run out of cyan paint and been plagued by inexplicable anxiety all day, tension locked in his chest. It was all too simple to fall into the easy comfort of a bottle. Especially when there was no one around to tut or eye roll. Grantaire only remembered Eponine when she opened the door of the wardrobe he had taken shelter in, and slumped down next to him. It was a tight squeeze, their legs tangling as they faced each other. Eponine motioned for the bottle and wrinkled her nose as the liquor burned a path down her throat.

Grantaire couldn’t even taste the alcohol anymore, just kept knocking it back like water. In the dark, he was lost amongst the swirl of his own troubling thoughts. Then Eponine spoke, dragging him back into focus.

“It must’ve been later than I thought. When I got home my father was already there. I’d spent the day watching Marius eye up every girl in a five mile radius like a lovesick school boy. I was right next to him and he barely looked at me. I was hardly ecstatic after that, not exactly thinking straight. And I was still worrying about Gavroche – we barely had enough money to eat and the rent was coming up. The last job interview didn’t even bother calling me back.”

Eponine’s voice was husky from the alcohol, her eyes intense as they met Grantaire’s.

“I got home and my father was counting out money that he’d stolen from a charity collection cup. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. And… and…” she broke off for a second and took another gulp of liquid to cover it.

“And I just lost it. I went batshit, screamed that I was gonna report him to the police. He screamed right back and shoved me across the room. I tried to hit him with a vase or something, I dunno, whatever was nearest, and he lashed out, caught me across the face. I didn’t realise he had a knife until I could taste my own blood. He told me to get out or he’d kill me.”

Eponine took a deep shuddering breath. Her arms had tightened around herself, holding herself in. Grantaire watched her carefully.

“Then it just spiralled in my head…” she trailed off, her hands twisting apologetically. “I can’t really find the words to describe it.”

Grantaire nodded. He had enough experience of dark nights and helpless days to know that there aren’t many words for these things. The long silence was broken only by the sound of liquid hitting the bottom of the bottle. Eventually Grantaire managed a reply.  
“It’s okay.”

As insignificant as the answer was, it was enough for Eponine to pat him on the leg, a silent moment of contact between them. After that they spent the rest of the night in silence, sharing the complicit knowledge that it wasn’t okay, but saying it – and being with someone who understood – at least made it easier to bear. The suffocating proximity of the wardrobe and the heady effect of the alcohol made the air seem heavy and intense. To Grantaire, time seemed to no longer follow the path of entropy but rather spiralled aimlessly through the night. But it must’ve ended eventually because they were abruptly awoken from broken sleep by Enjolras, lit up by burgeoning dawn sun, opening the door of the wardrobe.

With a blazing look, Enjolras pulled Grantaire into his arms and hugged him as if he could keep him safe through sheer willpower alone. Even as his head spun, Grantaire returned the hug with the air of a drowning man.

“Leaving a note next time?” Enjolras murmured into R’s neck. He chuckled as they parted and turned to help Eponine up.

*

A morning weeks later, Eponine slipped into the kitchen, her face a death mask of exhaustion. Without so much as a raised eyebrow Enjolras put the kettle on for coffee. Eponine slouched into a chair and put her head in her hands, only raising it to receive the steaming drink. Half way down the mug, she shifted nervously and Grantaire, who was receptive if nothing else, turned from scrutinising the fridge to stare at her concernedly.

“Everything alright?” he ventured. She nodded slowly.

“I was thinking…” she said, speaking into her cup with unusual nervousness. “Living with you has shown me that there are people who care and it’s not my fault for feeling like-“ here she broke off to gesture vaguely. “I was wondering if you’d help me get myself sorted with some help?” Her words garbled together as she finished in a defensive rush.

Grantaire hid his secret grin, beaming away to the inside of the fridge. Enjolras had frozen in place with his mug halfway to his lips, but he looked happy.

*

After a few false starts, they established a simple routine. Enjolras was the organisational one; making appointments, researching medications, coming up with endless plans and procedures. Grantaire was the one who did the understanding – the listening, the calming, the translating of Enjolras’ well-meaning bluster. Grantaire could temper Enjolras’ boundless enthusiasm and help Eponine articulate her feelings, whilst Enjolras stopped the two of them diving head first into a bottle at the first sign of trouble. They worked well as a team.  
Slowly, bit by bit, inch by inch, Eponine got better. The breakdowns still happened, she still shut herself off at times and couldn’t always stop the darkness that descended but it was manageable now. She could control it. Eponine concentrated on the fact that she was loved and her darkest moments didn’t define her.

*

Six months later she found a flat with a beautiful girl called Cosette. The boys helped her pack up to go with bittersweet smiles. Grantaire sighed as he reminisced but the beaming smile that Eponine shot them, as she waved goodbye and followed Cosette into her new home, made it all worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to knightgrantaire for betaing :)  
> Hope you enjoyed it!


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